


In the absence of sound (she hears her heart break)

by sunmoonstarsrain



Series: In the absence of sound (she hears her heart break) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27644081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunmoonstarsrain/pseuds/sunmoonstarsrain
Summary: She wonders if Akaashi Keiji could be her forever, (but then in the silence, her heart breaks).
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Original Female Character(s), Akaashi Keiji/Reader, Yaku Morisuke/Original Female Character(s), Yaku Morisuke/Reader
Series: In the absence of sound (she hears her heart break) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029213
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	In the absence of sound (she hears her heart break)

She meets Akaashi at an office mixer for magazine staff – he, an up and coming editor in the manga department, she, a translator for two languages.

Their paths meet when she spills a drink on his shoes (honestly, large crowds were never her forte) and her interest is immediately piqued when he smiles at her calmly and tells her he never liked that pair of shoes anyway. Then they start bumping into each other at work. She learns he drinks a prodigious amount of coffee – always black, from the number of times she catches him bent over the vending machine in the pantry. He saves her from the wrath of the printing machine when she forgets to remove the staples from her papers again.

‘We should go out for dinner’, she tells him, because she’s been taught to get out there and chase what she wants (and she rather likes the broadness of his shoulders and the patience in his eyes), and while he’s mildly taken aback, he agrees. She takes him for dumplings in a greasy diner, practically a hole in the wall, and is gratified when he doesn’t seem to mind that she eats almost as much as he. He doesn’t agree to let her pay for him – she tries to insist because she’s the one who asked, after all – but he does agree to split the bill.

He brings her to his favourite bookstore the following week, and they sit in a nook with their respective books and share a pot of tea. She discovers his dry sense of humour through long conversations about any and everything. He admires the contours of her mind when she rambles about work in three languages to him.

Months pass – and by the year’s end, he asks her to move in with him.

\-------------------------------------

They find a flat a few stops from work. It’s small, but he manages to squeeze in a sprawling bookshelf groaning with the weight of his books, and she stuffs it full of knick knacks she stole from her parents’ home. They walk to work and leave for home together.

They spend nights on the couch sharing pots of tea, he - buried in his work, she - immersed in music, and on weekends they explore parks and bookstores and restaurants and museums. They discuss heatedly whether to adopt a cat or dog (she prefers the former, he prefers the latter) and talk about the possibility of buying a house in a year or two.

She begins to think that this could be her _forever_ , and wonders if he feels the same.

\-------------------------------------

‘Are you really dating Akaashi-san?’, Hana-chan from accounting asks curiously over lunch one day.

‘Yes’, she answers with a slight frown. ‘Why?’

‘You two seem so formal with each other’, Hana titters. ‘If he didn’t send you flowers ever Friday, any one watching you both would assume you’re just friends.’

‘Keiji is just reserved’, she defends him heatedly, ‘He’s affectionate enough in private with me.’

Hana laughs at her frown - ‘I’m sure, I’m sure - it’s just strange to find someone so shy about their love in this day and age’.

Hana isn’t wrong per se - she remembers an incident in their early days of dating when she tried to hold his hand and steal a kiss from him, but Keiji avoided her grasp and muttered a firm ‘ _not in public, dear_ ’. Still, she tells herself she doesn’t mind that, her heart is warm enough from the gentle kisses he presses to her face in the comfort of their little home.

\-------------------------------------

‘Busy, busy Keiji’, she says, a teasing lilt in her tone. ‘It’s time to go home’.

‘I still have work to do tonight’, he frowns down at the page in his hand. ‘I’ll meet you at home?’

‘Sure’, she chirps. ‘I’ll have a cup of tea waiting for you when you get home’.

‘I actually prefer coffee’, he replies, an embarrassed flush on his face. ‘I can’t keep awake with just tea’.

‘You’re going to continue working at home?’ She tilts her head to look at him confusedly, because yes - deadlines are tight in the publishing industry, but Keiji’s just powered through a major submission and is up for a promotion because of it - so it doesn’t make sense that he’s still so busy. ‘Rest is important, Keiji’.

‘I know but I asked for extra assignments - I thought I should challenge myself’.

It’s her turn to frown. ‘ _Oh_ ’, she says, and her disappointment must be evident in her face because he turns to catch her arm. ‘Work is important, darling. Surely you understand.’ He gives her a slight smile. ‘I promise I’ll make it up to you when this all ends’. ‘

Alright’, she says, trying to smooth her frown from her face. ‘I shan’t be mad since you promised so nicely’, she jokes half-heartedly and heads off alone.

The flat is cold and empty. She hums to herself to fill the silence as she fixes herself a cup of tea.

\-------------------------------------

‘Working late again?’ she asks.

He’s crouched over his desk in the office, multiple cups of coffee and stacks of paper marked in red strewn everywhere. The smudges beneath his eyes are a darker purple than she remembers, the skin of his hands almost translucent beneath the harsh office light and scarlet ink stains.

‘Mm’, he nods. His eyes do not leave the page.

‘I’ll see you later?’ she offers, and leaves when he offers no reply.

She leans her forehead on the sofa (ignoring how it’s too big for just her alone) and plays the songs her mother used to sing until she feels like she’s home.

\-------------------------------------

‘You’re working yourself too hard’, she tells him on another late night.

‘I’ve got work to do’ he responds, blinking owlishly up at her as if he can’t believe she doesn’t understand. She does – really, but it’s raining and she doesn’t want to walk home alone.

‘Work can wait’, she tries again, running her hand along his arm, frowning as he shrugs her off.

‘Not here’, he tells her firmly. ‘ _Not anywhere’_ , she can’t help but think to herself.

A car splashes her with rainwater as it drives by her. She stands under the scalding hot shower for far too long, telling herself it’s because she’s trying to scrub the dirt marks off her legs _(and definitely not because she’s hiding the tears sliding down her face)_. There’s an ache beneath her ribs that she can’t acknowledge _(because if she does, it means the crack in her heart is real),_ so she sings her favourite songs to herself until she can pretend she’s ok.

\-------------------------------------

‘I’m home’, he calls to her, his voice echoing in the flat.

‘Keiji!’ she bounces into the hallway to greet him, but the thick stack of paper he draws out of his briefcase makes her heart sink. ‘ _Oh well_ ’, she thinks to herself, and does what she always does when she’s alone - puttering around the kitchen, humming songs with a cheerful melody. But when she fetches him a cup of tea, she notices a furrow in his brow, traces the downward slant of his mouth, hears the harsh tap of his slim fingers against his desk. 

‘Is everything ok?’ She approaches him cautiously, placing her hand on his shoulder. ‘You seem a little tense.’

‘Everything's fine, I just can’t focus when you’re making so much noise’, he says curtly.

‘I’m sorry’, she offers contritely, flinching inwardly at the lines of irritation appearing on his face. ‘But it’s the weekend, Keiji. Surely you can take some time off work?’

‘No, I can't. You wouldn’t understand’, he responds, waving her off dismissively.

‘We haven’t spent much time together in a while. Maybe we can go for dinner tonight?’, she persists, ignoring the pain sharpening in her chest. 

‘I said I can’t, I have work’, he snaps at her, not noticing when she takes an involuntary step back. ‘You obviously don’t understand.’

‘I do understand’, she tells him quietly, because she does - she’s not some flunky working in a dead-end job – for heaven’s sake they’re professionals in the same industry. She wouldn’t be in line for promotion at the end of the year if she weren’t herself adept at managing the stress of impending deadlines and an overwhelming workload - but he does not respond.

So she stays silent. And in the absence of sound, she can hear her heart break.

\-------------------------------------

She has vacation days to spare, so she packs her bags and moves out into her sister’s place.

It’s a little sad how easy it is to avoid Keiji since he’s never at home. He must notice he’s gone though because he tries calling her the day after – once, twice, and by the third time she sends a single text – ‘ _it’s over. Please don’t contact me again_ ’, and promptly blocks his number. But he’s persistent, waiting by her desk with a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers when she heads back to work.

‘Talk to me’, he begs, and she suppresses the urge to tell him that she tried, _goddamnit - but she’s done, please go away and leave her alone_ , but his face is drawn and his eyes are bloodshot, and she reminds herself – this is _Keiji_ , the man she fell in love with over plates of dumplings and shared pots of tea, the man she once believed could be her _forever_ , and agrees to meet him for lunch on the weekend.

‘But not now’, she says, unable to resist a parting shot – ‘work is very important to you after all’.

She regrets it immediately when she sees his shoulders stiffen and something in his eyes _break_.

\-------------------------------------

They arrange to meet at the café in his favourite bookstore. She turns up five minutes early but finds he’s already there waiting. He orders coffee – black, without sugar, and she gets tea with a slice of cake.

‘Come home to me. Please. I miss you’, he blurts out, looking at her with pleading eyes.

‘I can’t do that’, she says, shaking her head because their flat hasn’t felt like home for so long – no, not in the absence of sound, the silence so still she heard her heart break.

‘I can fix this’, he promises desperately. ‘I’ll stop working so hard, I’ll come home for dinner with you - it’ll be just like what we used to do, and we’ll be happy again’.

‘Keiji’, she says, a sad smile on her face. ‘There’s nothing left to fix. Can you honestly promise you won’t end up resenting me - resenting us - when exciting assignments and promotions pass you by, because you feel obliged to split your time between work and me?’

‘I could never resent you’, he tells her brokenly. ‘Never.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Keiji’, she replies tiredly. ‘You and I both know you love your work more than you love me’.

He shakes his head in denial, eyes red and glassy and she stops him with a finger to his trembling lips before she continues, the words bitter in her mouth - 'It’s ok to admit that you fell out of love with me. I should have realised that a long time ago. You deserve to find someone you love more than your work, and I deserve to find someone who’ll put me first’.

At this, he lets out a quiet cry, and she can hear her heart crack open again. But the sad truth is she knows it’s over – has been over ever since she’s allowed her heart to be burnt slowly by his neglect, the ashes building up in her chest.

‘I’m sorry, Keiji’, she turns to leave, a bittersweet smile twisting her lips. ‘It's time to let each other go’.

\-------------------------------------

To his credit, he doesn’t pester her at work, though he sends her flowers every Friday – pink camellias for longing, violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for obvious reasons, and she draws the line when he starts to send her red roses _(for love)_ , sending him a strongly worded note to let her go. He finally stops, and she’s relieved when he takes her advice and asks out a girl from the publishing department – a peach blossom girl, thoroughly gentle and sweet and soft spoken. She tells herself she’s happy for him.

Still – there’s a dull ache in her chest when she sees them share an umbrella together when they leave work, a poisoned whisper in her mind wondering _why she wasn’t quite enough for him_ , and an awkwardness when she bumps into either of them - especially that awful time she got stuck in the lift with said peach blossom girl, neither woman quite knowing where to look. It's enough to push her to resign right after she collects her bonus.

She’s always dreamed of joining the diplomatic corps, and luckily, since she’s fluent in Russian, it’s easy enough for her to land a posting with the Japanese embassy in Moscow. So she chops her hair (she hears that’s what break-ups make girls do), packs her bags and gets on a flight to her next adventure.

\-------------------------------------

Moscow is as colourless and dreary as she imagined, so she wouldn’t have thought a quiet shade of brown might catch her eye as it does when the Japanese embassy hosts a party during New Year’s Day and she meets one Yaku Morisuke, a libero playing in the Russian Volleyball Super League, and from what she hears, a vital member of the Japanese National team.

She can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu when she bumps into him and spills her drink all over his shoes, but it’s eased when he shoots her a wide grin and tells her not to worry even though it’s his favourite pair of shoes.

‘You can teach me Russian over dinner as payment instead’, he tells her cheekily, and he takes her for Russian dumplings, full of beef and pork and potatoes. ‘It’s a little strange but it’s the closest thing I can find to home’, he says, eyes bright. He lets her pay the bill, but insists she let him pay when they go out again.

‘Are we going out again?’ She teases, and feels her heart skip a beat when he pouts at her with puppy-dog eyes. To no one’s surprise, they meet for a second date, then a third, and their days together soon blends into happy memories of ice skating and dumplings and steaming cups of tea.

\-------------------------------------

‘Why don’t you move in with me’, Yaku asks her matter of factly through a mouthful of rice, at the end of her tirade about her awful landlord who just tried to double her rent in less than a year.

Her mouth opens and closes as she processes the thought and her mind moves into overdrive, worrying she’s moving too fast, falling too fast (the spectre of the trainwreck that was her and _Keiji_ buzzing at the back of her mind) - but then she realises she’s being unfair to him.

Because Yaku - or Mori as she now calls him, is _nothing_ like him. He’s short (though she’d never admit it), whereas Keiji is tall. Quick tempered to Keiji’s calm temperament. But more importantly, he delights in spending time with her even after a long, hard day at work, humming contentedly to the songs she sings, and he never shies away from affection - relishes it, rather, pulling her close with the edges of her woollen scarf to kiss her openly on the street.

‘Come on’, he wheedles. ‘We could even adopt a kitten so you won’t be lonely when I’m away for work’, and he laughs fondly when her face lights up. 

You drive a hard bargain, but alright’, she pretends to grouse, heart in throat, but echoes his laughter when he triumphantly leans over to press his lips to her cheek.

\-------------------------------------

She - with their kitten in tow - returns back to Japan when Mori’s drafted to play for the Japanese team in the Olympics.

‘Akaashi!’ she exclaims, spotting a familiar mop of dark hair in the VIP stand. ‘What are you doing here?’

He waves a friendly _hello._ ‘I never told you I played volleyball in high school?’ he asks and when she shakes her head, he points to a tall man with grey and white streaks in his dark hair. ‘I used to be Bokuto-san’s setter’, he tells her, pride evident in his calm voice.

‘That’s so cool’, she says cheerfully, checking back to the court to see if Mori’s playing yet. Then she glances at him once over, noticing lines under his eyes that weren’t there before. ‘Keiji’, she says, the once familiar name now foreign on her tongue. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good’, he replies with a small smile. ‘Surviving. Alright, I guess.’

‘Not married yet?’ she asks playfully.

‘No, we broke up’, he tells her plainly, waving away her apologies. ‘And you?’

‘Nope, not married yet’, she says with a distracted smile.

He wonders if he should seize the moment to tell her what he’s wanted to say when their relationship ended in flames (starting with ‘ _I’m sorry for everything_ ’, and ending with a hopeful ‘ _maybe we can try again_ ’) but he stops short when she shouts ‘ _Mori! Mori!_ ’, as a short, brown haired man steps onto the court.

‘You know Yaku?’ Akaashi asks curiously. _Nekoma libero, often overlooked but extremely dangerous_ \- he remembers.

‘He’s my boyfriend’, she chirps, eyes glued to the court. ‘Do you know him too?’

‘We used to play each other in school’, he answers faintly, watching her cheer and wave her hands wildly. _She’s happy_ , he thinks, _she’s really moved on_ \- and that thought selfishly makes his stomach sink.

‘He’s a good man’, he finally finds himself telling her.

‘The best’, she agrees, the sparkle in her eyes so bright he’s forced to look away.

\-------------------------------------

He thinks he must be a masochist when he watches her throw herself headfirst into Yaku’s arms at the end of the match, the regretful ‘ _what ifs_ ’ and ‘ _that could’ve been me_ ’ thundering in his ears. Still, he knows she deserves someone who’ll always put her first, and with that thought ringing in his mind, he waits until she’s distracted with Bokuto-san’s antics before he steps forward, hand outstretched to Yaku.

‘Take care of her’, Akaashi says with a bittersweet smile. ‘You’re a lucky man’.

Yaku gives him an assessing look. ‘Always’, he promises firmly, taking his hand.

\-------------------------------------

She returns home first, and he follows a few weeks later, after a whirlwind of awards and press interviews.

He breaks into a run when he sees her, swinging her into his arms at the arrival gate, and when they get home she cooks dumplings for him. ‘ _In case you miss home already_ ’, she tells him teasingly, but flushes when he answers ‘ _but with you, I am home_ ’, and blushes bright red when he carries her off to bed.

‘I want this to be my forever’, Mori tells her as he lays his head in her lap.

‘So do I’, she replies, her heart humming quietly, finally in safe hands. ‘So do I’.


End file.
